Beowulf

Surprisingly good. I went into it with low expectations, and was in despair by the first 10 minutes (dialogue, dialect, heavy-handed sexual innuendoes were all a loss), wondering why they even bothered to pretend to use actors, when the whole thing looked completely animated. But there are some great epic themes that get developed once they get past the awfulness. In particular, I liked the way they paid attention to the role of storytelling in epic, which was the subject of my honors thesis.

Great interpretation of myth, a great gory climax with drama and suspense - and then they decided to cap it off, perhaps to give the movie some continuity with its painful opening, with the stupidest, most pointless Angelina Jolie cameo at the end.

Pizzaface

I'm in agony from these hives. My face looks like it's missing a layer of skin, it's all red and puffy. Is it possible to develop a fast resistance to Benedryl? I had a few wonderful hours of peace today when it calmed the itching and put me to sleep, but now I can't seem to get either, highly desired, effects.

Can't Sleep

I'm reminded of that day in German class when we were learning the verb "to look for," I think, and our practice exercise was to write a personals-type thing describing our ideal mate. I think I might have mentioned it before, actually. The final product stated that my ideal mate was a man who reads no books, plays the guitar, and loves dogs. I still stand by that claim, incidentally, except that now I think I might get along better with a cat person than a dog person, since I'm already the dog person. Anyways, while we were working in groups and brainstorming our presentation, German Teacher came by and remarked that he expected I should come up with a really good one. I said, in order to do that, I'll need to know the German word for "rash." Haha! He tried to give me a stern reprimanding look as he alleged he didn't know the word for rash...

Why am I reminded of this conversation? Because I have a rash so big I can't sleep! No, no, it's no the sexy kind of rash I wanted to express in German. Rather, this is a no-holds outbreak of hives. I think it's something I ate. I used to get these reactions a lot when I was a kid, but it's definitely been a while and I was not expecting to be this miserable now when I chomped into that chicken-bacon-ranch Subway sandwich tonight, and washed it down with milk. It seems like it should have been harmless enough, but then again you never know with vegetables. That spinach I had them throw on there could have been of the poo-smeared variety, for all I know.

Current Audio

Kanye West
Big Brother

I keep wondering why this single hasn't made the radio rounds yet. It's easilly one of the most real and complex stories I've heard from a hip hop bard recently, and the beat is cooler than a lot of the other Graduation singles that have been making it big. But I especially admire the story. Hip hop stories normally fall under either one of two templates: the "life in the ghetto" template - usually the more real of the two - or the "I got money/bling/bitches" template, of which the stock "I'm the best rapper in the game" boasts are a subcategory. The unique thing about "Big Brother" is that it follows template 2, but without sounding shallow and hackneyed. West frames his hip hop ego within a narrative of rivalry and mimetic desire, with the result that he still sounds like a rapper (I've heard a number of classicists make the hip hop/epic comparison, in that rappers and heroes are supposed to be consumed with the idea of self-aggrandizement through words and reputation), but at the same time, the song preserves some real emotion. As a classicist by training, I have a reverence for tradition (even if it's hip hop template 2), and hence a keen admiration for tradition-cum-innovation. And as a former poet-dilettante, I'm wholly won over by pieces with relatable emotion. Who of us doesn't have such a person in are lives, a person whom we idolize, but because he or she is a regular human with human fallibilities, sometimes acts like a jerk to us; and still, for all that we get angry, we can't take him or her off the pedestal? I like "Big Brother's" interpretation of that phenomenon: it's not that we're being moon-eyed and stupid, it's just another one of the wonderful things a hero can do: bring out the best in us.

Painting Is Its Own Demise

I had some thoughts for a post about the death of painting and the plastic arts qua high art, but I'm getting sidetracked by this ennui that presents a related theme. First allow me to get that out of my system, and perhaps tomorrow I'll lift my focus to loftier subjects.

Fashion. I never thought this day would come when I'm sick of it! I feel pretty confident that I own a little bit of everything - everything, that is, that is affordable or trend-significant, which amounts to the same thing, ie not totally wacky and undurable - with the result that I'm completely bored with looking for something new. My shoe collection is a great example: I've maxed out the possibilities for the kinds of shoe-statements one can make, and it has led to the very demise of the point of wearing shoes. Shoes are a category of ACCESSORIES - meaning, they're the bridesmaid, not the bride. You miss the Look that makes shoes so special when they speak too loudly. You can't wear bold clothes with bold shoes without looking like a crazy person, and since my shoes have continued to get bolder and bolder, by clothes have continued to get increasingly drab and monotone. And with that, I've killed the point of fashion. Fashion is no longer serving to enhance me, I'm serving to enhance my shoes.

The history of painting is a bit like that.

It's gotten to the point where I don't even want to think about self-expression or colors or moods or cuts or combinations anymore. Part of me just wants to put on black and white, and as long as I look skinny, mission accomplished.

The other problem is that I've been feeling like quite the scrub lately. I don't know what it is. Jeans and tshirts don't feel like what they used to be. And dressing up is harder too, perhaps because I'm getting to that age where hoochie clothes make me self-conscious. Or - and my intuituion leads me to this theory - clothes are actually getting hoochier, and it's crossing the line even for me. I've always considered myself an adherent of the old Destiny's Child principle (which Beyonce has since violated repeatedly) that if you show T (or stomach), you don't show A (or legs), and vice versa. Naturally I've long been one for the A over the T. But nowadays I'm hard-pressed to find designs that don't try to throw in some T even if the A is supposed to the focal point.

Last beef: I hate brown! I tried many times, and I've failed many times, and the truth is I just cannot feel chic, no way no how, if I'm wearing any brown.

Where does that leave me? I may have kicked my shopping habit. Amazing. I wouldn't have thought this day would come. It's a good thing too, since I have no clams coming in.

While I'm on the subject of things that are bugging me:

1. Never Been Kissed. It was on tv and though I've seen about half the movie before, I let myself watch it again because I have such a crush on Michael Vartan, aka Alias' Agent Vaughn. Let me tell you: that is one creepy-ass story. Every facet, through and through. The idea of adults infiltrating a high school and having a teen's romantic life with...well, teens! Brrgh. A teacher falling in love with a high school student. Creepy! Creepy! Creepy!

I actually have that dream quite often (lately) that I've gone back to high school, and even for me it's still creepy! But In my dreams, I'm always back to learn math...instead of, you know, doing inappropriate stuff. Huh. I guess the regret of that road not taken is tearing me up inside. My inner mathematician is weeping.

2. You Can't Take It With You. Starring Jimmy Stewart and Jean Arthur, a tried and true coupling. You'd think it'd be tolerable, but I got 5 words for it: boring boring boring slow interminable.

While I'm on the subject of movies:

Born Yesterday. Starring Judy Holliday and Bill Holden. Also slow and interminable...but not boring. I couldn't watch most of it because Judy Holliday's "dumb blonde" sqeaky voice was hard to take. But in spite of that, and the slowness, I gotta say I admire the story. Dumb blonde's tycoon fiance hires a newspaper man to make her smarter when they move to DC for business. Dumb blonde reads books, has a tough time because she doesn't know what any of the words mean, pulls through because newspaper man believes in her, slowly gets ideas about democracy and justice, realizes tycoon is a crook, falls in love with newspaper man, exposee, marriage. There are some great comic moments in which vocabulary and grammar and slang are the star (an odd coincidence to Never Been Kissed, but with very different, funny results), which I like, and I think there's something very high-jinxy about the road to self-improvement that makes the movie subtly enjoyable. Also, I love that archetype of the back-talking hussy one-upping her thuggish man, even when he beats and threatens her. It's the beloved tradition of Jean Harlow.

Finished My Personal Statement!!...Draft 1

Good God, it was a challenge holding back the whining! The story I told was about me being discriminated against, so you can imagine how tempting it was to lash out about how awful people are, and sound like a bitch and/or an undesirable in the process. Word count: 1500. This is pretty good for meeting the requirements for most of the schools, but there are some martinets who are demanding it fit in 2 double-spaced pages. Esta loco!

Trying to Be a Writer

The are two problems to this little dream I have: first, I don't write nearly enough publishable stuff, and second, I'm not very smart about seeking out markets. Meanwhile the WGA goes and strikes and pisses me off, because they have no idea how good they have it; they're living the dream!

Anyways, it seemed a good a time as any to try to take this dream to the road one more time. There was a story I wrote in college that I fell in love with called Surfer Boy. It was the only story I ever submitted to my beloved college lit journal that got flat-out rejected. It's pretty baffling how the creator is never an adequate judge of her own work, no matter how much she devotes her energy to the study of criticism. But since it was the closest thing I've written (but not yet published) to a cohesive story, I dusted it off and got it ready for another submission. I still think it's quite good. I've made some major additions, because I realized that sometime after Surfer Boy I started to write another surf piece with similar themes (though I admit it wasn't nearly as good), and Surfer Boy did need some augmentations, and there were a few good bits in the other story that I thought worth saving.

I was rather happy with the end result. I hope the editors will feel the same way, because I'm not one of those real artists who will say that it was worth it just to write for myself, even if no one else gets to see it. It's true that writing the piece made me feel good, but one must weigh that feeling against other sorts of happiness I could have derived had I spent that time doing something that could be appreciated by me AND everyone else.

Time for an Update

Nothing to write home about, but it may be worth documenting that there's nothing to write home about these days. I quit the J-O-B as of Tuesday and am back to having tons of time...which correspondingly means that it's even harder to get anything done. Here are some of the stuff I'm supposed to be tackling:

1. Finish, shorten personal statement - I'd say I have about 2 more paragraphs left to go, which will put me a good 500 words over.
2. Figure out how to use the frickin LSAC website
3. Figure out which schools I'm applying to, compile application materials
4. Study for the LSAT
5. 1 business email, to asshole Arthur
6. At least 3 friendly emails
7. Make my first student loan payment :-(
8. Start thinking about Christmas. FYI: www.mymms.com/winter

Speaking of gifts, I have a new love: the Build-a-Bear workshop. I had a chance to shop with them when I was customizing a bear for Nice Boss, and even though it probably wasn't the most exciting thing to receive, it was hella cool putting it together.

I had a dream last night about Steve-O. I sort of got blitzkrieg attacked when he ran into my room and shook his fleas all over me. Very vivid stuff. The flea-cloud was on me for just a few seconds, and immediately my face, neck, shoulders, and arms were COVERED in these tiny hard goosebumps, capped with pus. And, my room was infected. Steve-O should take notes from me.

Farcical

My first practice test since my real lsat in September? 180. Ha ha ha, good one, God! The perfect way to make me (1) feel as crappy as possible about my real score, (2) question the necessity of quitting my job so I could study for a month, and (3) have, again, an inflated sense of confidence for the December test - all in one fell swoop! It's like I've always said, you can't make this stuff up. God has an unbeatable sense of humor.

No one is buying and you shouldn't be selling

I'm here in the office by myself because everyone else on staff is "sick" today. The day after Halloween.

Lucky for the firm I have no life to get hungover on.